


White Flag

by Ceia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unrequited Love, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 15:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14240133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/pseuds/Ceia
Summary: Junkrat is suffering from an unusual illness. Mercy has the cure.





	White Flag

**Author's Note:**

> A small drabble for an ask I got on Tumblr requesting some Mercyrat hanahaki angst! ((https://fanlore.org/wiki/Hanahaki_Disease))

Something she’s noticed is that he never meets her eyes.

He looks at the others. Angela knows this because she watches him during their assignments and in the mess hall when everyone’s grabbing lunch. He always maintains good eye contact when he’s in a conversation with anybody else, but when it’s just the two of them here in her office, or even out in the field, he seems to avoid looking at her.

Angela doesn’t know why. She’d like to think she’s an approachable person. She tries not to nag him, even when he comes in trailing blood over her floor, and she gives him space when they are posted together, an attempt to prove that she wants to assist him rather than coddle. Still, he doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t seem to acknowledge her at all half the time. But she doesn’t question it, because he isn’t obliged to like her, and he’s polite enough to thank her for the rare assistance she’s able to provide for him.

Junkrat never meets her eyes, so she knows that something’s wrong when he does meet them, today.

“I, uh. Was wondering if you could do us a favour,” he says.

“Of course,” Angela says, leaning forwards slightly in her seat. “How can I help?”

She doesn’t want to look or sound too concerned in case he finds it intimidating, but Junkrat leans away from her anyway, into the back of the chair.

“It’s just—this thing I’ve got,” he says, laughing. “S’pretty embarrassing to be honest.”

An STI is the first thing that comes to mind. Junkrat is shameless, though, so it would surprise her if something like that is what’s bothering him.

“I have seen and heard it all,” Angela says, offering him a smile. “I can assure you there is no need to be embarrassed. Please, tell me how I can help.”

Junkrat laughs again. His leg is jittering, a rapid  _chkchkchk_  of metal on the floor, and he’s gripping his knees, hard enough for the painted nails on his left hand to dig into his skin. Nervous, clearly, though apparently not so nervous he can’t look at her. Junkrat's eyes are still on hers. Amber, unnaturally bright. They probably used to be brown.

“I keep puking,” Junkrat says. “Happened once, didn’t think anything of it. Then it happened again, and there was more of it, a shitload more. Now it’s happening every day, doc. Can’t seem to stop it.”

“Oh,” Angela says. An… eating disorder? Surely not. Junkrat is skinny but he isn’t malnourished.

“Convinced myself I was hallucinating the first time it happened, ‘cause of what came out. But it’s—well. Sorta thought—I probably need it seeing to, y’know? So I wanted you to take a look. Make sure I’m not just imagining shit that isn’t really there.”

Junkrat reaches into his pocket. Angela’s eyes go wide when he pulls out a handful of what appear to be rose petals.

“That… Those are.”

She swallows, staring at them in his cupped palm. Angela knows exactly what they are, what the affliction is, but she never once thought—not from someone like him.

“Junkrat, have you ever heard of ha—”

“Yeah, I have. Done my research. I know that’s what it’s s’posed to be, but I was sorta hoping you’d tell me I was being ridiculous. Guess I was right after all, eh?”

Angela stares at him. Junkrat's eyes are wide now too, like he’s scared, and it makes her feel dreadful for having been unable to hide her shock.

“I want it out of me, doc,” he says, his voice quiet and small.

There are so many questions she wants to ask—that she should ask, really, as his doctor. When did this start, how longfor _._ The immediate concern is for his health, of course, because if it’s happening daily then it won’t be long before it becomes life-threatening. But Angela can’t help wondering who has caused this terrible illness, and whether this person has any idea that Junkrat feels this way about them.

“You—but you know that if you do, if you have it removed, it’s—it’s a non-reversible procedure,” she says. “The feelings you have for this person… you’ll never be able to—”

“I’ll never be able to anyway.”

Junkrat smiles at her. Not his characteristic grin but something resigned and sad. It almost hurts to see it on him, a vulnerable softness that doesn't suit his angular face.

“Are… are you really sure?” Angela asks him, gently, because she doesn’t know what else she can say when he seems resolute.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Nothing I can do about it. S’never gonna happen, not with her, so I’m done. Don’t want this anymore.”

Angela can’t believe Junkrat is telling her this, cutting himself open in front of her when it’s been a struggle to communicate with him for all the time they’ve known each other. She almost reaches out to touch his left hand over his knee. He probably wouldn’t respond well to it if she did, so she refrains, folding her hands in her lap instead.

“Okay, well. Let me run through some questions, and if you really are sure about this, we can discuss your options for surgical removal.”

“Phew,” Junkrat says. “Thanks, doc. Appreciate it.”

He looks away from her then, at the floor between his feet. Junkrat doesn’t provide any details about who it is or how long he’s harboured these feelings, but it’s evident that he’s in a lot of pain, even though he’s been very good at hiding it. They talk about the procedure, the waiver he’ll need to sign, and the time he’ll need for recovery. The memory loss and apathy that’ll follow. Rehabilitation if the effects of removal extend beyond whoever it is he’s fallen in love with.

Junkrat smiles at her again when she’s finished booking in his next appointment. He seems happier, like a weight has been lifted in telling her. Angela is surprised when he holds her gaze before he leaves, though—when he reaches out and touches her shoulder, squeezes it in his metal hand.

He says goodbye and closes the door behind him, and somehow Angela wonders if Junkrat might go right back to not looking at her again, after this.

 


End file.
